Last night I watched a documentary covering the early years of the Newport Folk Festival, 1964-66: The great folk performers of the late fifties and early sixties and the thousands of young people who listened to them. A half century of history later, the scenes were eerie. In the dress and hair and faces of many musicians, you could see the vanguard of change. But the thousands of spectators, in their classically fifties dress and manner, were innocently unaware of the cultural maelstrom about to sweep them up: Vietnam, the draft, My Lai; the counterculture revolution; drugs and rock and roll and free sex; Selma and Kent State; the hope of Bobby Kennedy and MLK, the despair and rage at their deaths. America was on a precipice and about to go over. Bob Dylan sang as the prophet of the age: “The Times They Are A’ Changing.”

And today, around the globe, we sit in fear of a new disease, Covid 19, with the potential to take out maybe a half billion people: stock markets crashing, entire countries in lockdown, and the closest of social encounters pushed to six feet; global allies playing blame games and distrust of government growing exponentially; decent human beings in combat over toilet paper and sanitizer while indecent ones capitalize on the risk of death for their fellow citizens. Only two months ago, on a post-holiday high, we were living the dream.

Perhaps, when this is past, we will finally wake up to the fragility of our existence, a resurgence of community and our connectedness as a species. But I doubt it…

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